Honey Haired Pop Tart
by kishaz
Summary: Axel Carson is an ex-aspiring artist, fresh out of college and fresh out of a job. When he gets hired at a XIII Security, life starts to look up- especially when he's forced to be a body guard for ex Disney starlet, Roxas. Read extended summary inside.
1. Ch1: Told You So

A.N:

So I tried. I tried really hard to stay away from fanfiction and fandom and everything. I tried writing a story. No dice. Tried writing a webcomic. Close, but no cigar. I kept CRAVING Akuroku. It was awful. I'd design characters that'd mimic Kingdom Hearts characters, just to fill my sick pleasure. I didn't know what to do. I felt like an idiot, caring so much about a fandom when people were out there creating _real_ art.

Then I got the best advice from anyone, ever: "Look at fanart and fanfiction as practice for the big leagues. They're still art forms, just inspired by someone else's work. And isn't every piece of art inspired by someone else to some degree?"

Yep, those are my fantastic brain words. so I just crapped out and went, "screw it, I'm going back to fandomizing. EMBRACE ME, OH MENTAL HEROIN!"

Then I started listening to Jesse McCartney.

-WAIT DON'T CLOSE THE WINDOW HEAR ME OUT.

Or at least, read the first chapter. Or the summary, which I'll post in a moment. Because, while the plot idea is... pathetic, the difference between it and the other crappy stories on my page is this: It has an actual plot_ line_. Start to finish. In theory, complete. I wish I was one of those really cool writers who go, "I can't write by a plot line. I just write as it comes, man.", but more and more it's beginning to look like I need structure to write well. ._. Oh well. This feels more stable to me.

But anyways! This is what I came up with, derp. I'm so sorry to all of you following My Guardian Angel, but I'm pretty confident that this won't disappoint you. ;D

**Extended summary:**

Axel Carson is, in a word, resentful. While trying to pursue a career in the arts, he decides that going to college would be a good idea. It all blows up in his face when he realizes that, funny him, none of his degrees actually work to getting him a job _anywhere. _When he finally gets hired at a security company, he is both relieved and disappointed. Over the course of three months, he begins to accept that he won't get a job in the arts after all, until he's forced to do security work for his most hated celebrity: Roxas McCartney. Being paid a great sum, and knowing he still has debts to pay, he takes the job with a nod and a forced smile and thinks it's the end of that road. But when Roxas personally asks Axel to hop onto his tour with him, Axel can't refuse- if for nothing else, the money. He finds there's far more to gain from that tour than it initially let on to look... and far more to lose as well.

Maturity for toilet-language _everywhere_, some violence, steamy make-out sessions, a bit of heavy petting, and swarms of screaming teenage girls.

You were warned.

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts and all its characters don't belong to me blah blah blah.

* * *

Chapter one: Told You So

There is something fantastically ironic about man's creative drive. You see, those who possess creativity have potential to do many unique, amazing things. They can create art that, with a glance, could send shivers down your spine; words that could move you in such a way that you would be inspired to make change; inventions that could save lives (and confuse others- No one likes to be shouted at through the TV by some guy promoting Sham-Wows); music that could stir you to the very core, pulling out strands of fine-tuned emotions that you never even realized existed until the melodies invaded your ears. Man finds endless outlets for the desire to create, as many opportunities to put their ideas to use as there are opportunities to breathe. Even the moments we cannot breathe only bring out the strongest of our creative drive, as there's no better motivation than living another day. There are so many endless possibilities for life to be expressed in ways that can be articulated…

And yet, there's almost no legit future in doing so. Don't get me wrong; I'm not a cynical guy. Nah, I'm a guy who's lost faith in such a phenomenal concept. Forking out your future, money you don't actually have, and the occasional arm and leg to get college degrees in Visual Art, Contemporary Writing, and Music and Lyric composing without any of it being able to land you a career- or hell, even a part time job- will do that to you. It's a nice trophy on your parents' "I told you so" shelf. A good dose of sulfuric acid to rub into your now wounded pride and self worth. Yes, that sounds about right: Unforgiving, corroding everything it touches.

Sounds a bit melodramatic, huh? Not so. It might be a stretch to compare failure to acid, even a little cliché. To a confident person, the worst it would probably be is vinegar, you'd assume. But at the same time, when one has applied to the lowest of the lowest jobs in the western world (Including such reputable companies as McDonalds, Wal-Mart and every dollar store you could think of) with one's said degrees on their resume and _still_ can't get hired, I know first-hand that vinegar starts to feel like acid very, very quickly.

No?

Yeah, well, fuck you too.

… Haha. I guess that is partially the reason I wouldn't get hired anywhere. Then again, it might also be the reason as to why a security company for night clubs would call me for an interview today. I was, to be honest, surprised. I wasn't aware that writing "hip hop dancing and living in the slums" would qualify as experience to protect someone. Moreover, I was surprised that the presence of my degrees gave me an advantage to being hired- yet it somehow makes perfect irrational sense. You get a degree in computer programming, you become a plumber. Guess that's just the way that college education works. But, back to being hired. – I'm sorry, is that cocky? Good. Everyone can use some cockiness in their life.  
So it was on this Tuesday afternoon of June the 13th that I found myself at the foot of the security office, "XIII Security and Safety Corporation." You know you can feel safe under the number thirteen, right? I would have outright laughed if I wasn't so damn nervous. The building was clean, grey and practical; the blank, crisp face of business. Dressed in nothing more modest than a short-sleeved, sky blue dress shirt and pressed charcoal dress pants, I swallowed away the tennis ball nerves in my throat and confidently reached to push open the door with a self-reassuring grin. I could do this.

A couple of confused shoves revealed that this was, in fact, a pull door. Through the glass door, I watched the receptionist guffaw obnoxiously.  
There goes my confidence.

I meekly pulled open the door, avoiding eye contact with the receptionist. I took a seat in the padded waiting chairs adjacent to the desk, watching from the corner of my eye the guy at the desk attempting to recompose himself. There was a drawn silence.

After a moment, he flashed me a good-natured smile. "Player one has entered the dungeon successfully. Potential employee has leveled up!" He proceeded to toot the Final Fantasy victory theme. Still a little burnt from being laughed at, though respecting his knowledge of pop culture, my retort was snarky and playful: "Axel Carson uses 'future vengeance for being mocked'. It's super-effective." The little punk poised still, with the ghost of a grin on his lips. My 'good pals' posture drew into itself, preparing myself to spurt an apology of being unprofessional. Had I screwed over my first shot at having a job in over two months? Was I not talking to a receptionist, but the boss, who was delivering an intricate test? This guy really didn't look like a boss: sandy mohawk-and-mullet hair, casual street wear, clunky bright blue goldfish headphones slung around his neck… staring into those mellow teal eyes though, I was starting to second guess myself. "I'm sorry," I sputtered, "That was—"

And then he cocked his head behind his shoulder and hollered into the back hall, "Xig, if you don't hire him, I'm not doing any coffee runs for you anymore. This guy's awesome!"

"You're still an intern, water boy, don't test me. Send the kid in."

He returned his attention to me. "Xiggy'll see you now, good sir. Second door to yer right. Good luck!" He jutted his thumb to the direction of the hall and turned to the computer, resuming a neglected game of solitaire with half-hearted clicks and shuffles of the mouse. Overall, the initial feel of the place was surprisingly lax… It was not at all what I was expecting. I was still convinced that there was some dirty trick behind all of this, so I walked down the hall with the careful poise of "the new guy". That might not have been the best option in hindsight, considering it was a security company, but I couldn't be _too_ careful, right?

I stepped up to the door, my left ankle collapsing my foot idly out of anxiety (it was my own personal tick; I'm sure that years of doing that will screw up my feet somehow) before firmly knocking on the door. I left all of my nervousness outside the door. It was time to make some impressions.

" Come right in," The voice that replied had a funny sort of rough undertone, with a hint of California-surfer accent lingering in there, adding a touch of flavor to what would have been heard as an average-Joe kind of voice. This must have been Xigbar, a man I was sure would have been way too easy to pick from a crowd. And, to some extent, I was right. Opening the door to the office, I was met with… the cover of Machiavelli's 'The Prince', concealing the face of my new employer. "I'll just be a sec, dude. Book's getting real." It gave me the chance to take in the room.

The first thing that hit my mind was that, even if this man were not in the room, you could probably figure him out just by what was collected in his office. A clean, glossed oak wood desk was littered with disheveled papers, crudely bent and useless staples, craft photo frames that looked like they were made by two year olds (said two year olds were in said frames, also framed by a loving father and mother), and cheap tourist souvenirs.  
On the bookshelves behind Xigbar, there was a wide variety of reading material, ranging from 'Alberta Hunter's Monthly' magazine stacks (They looked wrinkled from water damage. Maybe he read in the tub, like me?), to 'I'll Love You Forever' by Robert Munsch and every Harry Potter book ever written. There was something for everyone there, it seemed. On other shelves, there were little metal models of war helicopters, tanks, jets and guns—_Especially_ guns. They were everywhere: mounted on the walls; in little framed caricatures; in political comics tacked up to a cork board with various other sticky notes and drawings and faxes and club brochures; in beautifully framed posters depicting modern warfare between revolutionists and political tyrants; in politically incorrect motivational posters, and monogrammed onto a jersey jacket slung on the back of his swivel chair that read, 'Edmonton Sharpshooters Society'. It gave the idea that this guy was violent. But to combat the weaponry was an entire bookshelf dedicated to first aid encyclopedias, safety procedure manuals, self-defense guides, and 'safety in the workplace' promotional videos among the general pile of business-related media.

He was definitely a man that valued three things: Guns, the necessities of a properly-running business, and most importantly, family. He was still reading away at his book, and not really in a hurry to interrupt him, continued to take in the surroundings, or more importantly, the man himself. I like to think of myself as a quasi-prolific writer, despite my appearance, but there was only one phrase I could use to compare the room to the man who owned the room: fuckin' opposite.

He seemed to be a tallish, lanky man (probably stood a little taller than my six-foot-eight) and yet, though he was lean, he sure as hell wasn't a twig. He had meat on those aging bones, and a decent amount of it, too. His hands were what really showed his age though, with the veins protruding as I there was hardly a skin to cover them, finger joints jutting out blatantly. His skin held a slightly warm olive tan to it, most of which was exposed by a black tank top and slate slacks. His shirt was tucked in, which I assumed would make anyone look like the greatest dork in history, but in contrast on him made him look like he owned the place. Which, of course, he did, so there was nothing wrong with that. And if I had thought otherwise, I sure as hell wouldn't have mentioned it—he was pretty scary looking himself. Finally dog-earing a page in his book, he clapped the hardcover shut. I couldn't help jolting a little, not only from the sound, but from the book revealed as his face. It was angular and thin, a large gouging scar tearing up the right side of his jaw and cheek. His eyes were the sharpest, most vibrant shade of hazel I had ever seen—I'm sorry. It's just compulsory of me to say eyes, I didn't even realize it—he had no left eye, covered up by a simple black pirate patch. Weirdly enough, his ears tapered up to delicate, almost elfin points, though it was hardly enough to be noticed. A birth defect maybe? Did he just screw up his ears like that 'cause he thought it looked cool? I didn't bother asking. He was rifling through some stuff in his desk, muttering about how he "should keep things together better, this crap's nuts." Thin, yet well-groomed and tended salt-and pepper hair was slicked back into a long, thin ponytail. He sincerely looked like a war veteran. He looked up and flashed me a grin, and introduced himself as Mr. Mueller.

Remembering that he also had a family, I envisioned his little tykes gushing with pride whenever they introduced their dad, as if they had Optimus Prime for a father. There was no mistaking that at home, this man's cupboards were brimming with "#1 Dad" cups and mugs. I mean, I'm not usually one to say this right off the get-go, but jeez; if you saw how much stuff he had of his kids in his office, you'd say it too. He was _really_ freaking proud of his family.

I had taken all of these details in at some point or another during our introductions. I shook his hand firmly, gave him my name, all that crap. He then instructed me to sit. Mind bubbling a little in a newly-awakened nervousness, I smiled as calmly as I could manage and slipped into the chair with the stiffest, most polite posture I'd ever needed to muster in ten years. I swear I pulled a muscle actually trying to sit that straight.

"Oh, you can get cushy, dude," he drawled, fishing a stack of papers out from the storm of clutter on his desk. "You'll be sitting here for a while." The paper package he dropped on the table had to be at least half a centimeter thick, making a floppy kind of slap against the oak table. I was slightly bemused. I was expecting this guy to drill me with questions like a sergeant. Or leap over the table and take a stapler to my face. Either seemed pretty likely.

"Uh," I glanced at the papers, already fiddling the flame-patterned pen from my pocket, "A… test?"

"You thought it was over when you left college, didn't ya? Ha!" His laugh was a fantastic, loud bark. "Think again, tiger." He was wearing a smug grin, almost waiting for me to criticize his methods. _Go ahead_, his eyes sneered_, I dare you to_. Out of anxiety, I couldn't help but laugh. His grin shifted to something far less intimidating. "Something funny, punk?"

"Nah. Well no, kind of," I shifted into a slightly more comfortable position without noticing (really isn't in my nature to sit without slouching.), foot resting on my knee to rest the stack of papers on like a makeshift desk, "I'm just weirded out, that's all. This is a security company, and you're testing me… on paper? I mean I can't complain," I added quickly when the look on his face shifted into something similar to a gym teacher anticipating to blow a whistle, "but you know I'm an art kid, unless you didn't read my resume. Most people'd think an art kid would be a weak little prick—aw hell, sorry, I have a rotten mouth sometimes—but, you know, not to say I don't have experience either. I—"… was silenced by a wave of the hand from Xigbar. His gaze was stern, but he didn't speak, as if he wanted me to explain myself. I opened and shut my mouth like a fish gasping for air before I could sort myself out and speak again. "Word… vomit." I explained, glancing to the side and running my fingers through the back of my mane of a ponytail. "I do it a lot when I'm nervous. It's a shitty habit. It's just that, I really, really need this job, and I can't afford to screw it up this time." I finished rather lamely. Ten points to fuckin' Axel Carson for being a dumbass.

Xigbar stayed quiet for a moment. Then, he appeared to huff, his body juddering softly, with a biting sort of grin twisting the corners of his mouth. Then he laughed, loud and sharp and welcoming. "Word Vomit, that's great. That's perfect. There are worse things you can do when you're nervous, like knock someone's teeth in."

Again, I didn't understand. This had to be the most backwards business I had ever been in. "Isn't that something you'd want…?" Though immediately after saying so I understood why that would be the last thing he'd want.

Xigbar seemed to recognize this look, but decided to explain anyways while continuing to wear his tiger grin, "Axel, if there is one thing I hate most about theses punks that walk in this establishment is that every single one of them is some dick who thinks he can get a job by throwing his weight around. But being in this line of business means to _control_ violence, not fuckin' instigate it." His language was about as colorful as mine. I was impressed. "And, oddly enough, it's you 'art kids' that have a knack for handling situations peacefully and efficiently. Demyx is a _great_ example for you, Red. "

I gave him a look, part in confusion in who this 'Demyx' was, but mostly to my new nickname. He filled me in without question, "The goof off at the desk. He's one of my on-field employees." I guess that my shock must've translated on my face, as he chuckled hard in response. "Doesn't look like it, eh? He looks like he'd piss his pants at a barking dog. But he's got a very professional attitude about his work if he's focused, and he's surprisingly strong. Something about knowing a ninja." He rolled his eyes dully. I felt his pain at the teenage meme. I'd admit this guy was fuckin' scary, but great. A dangerous combination.

"But," The pepper-haired man continued, "Self control is maybe, like, thirty percent of the credentials you need for this job. I like your style, kid, but that'll mean jack-black if you don't know anything about handling people." He gestured to the stack of papers.

"Yes sir," I saluted him with my pen, getting right down to the papers. Only then was I conscious of the easy smile at my mouth. My cockiness approved. As I brought my attention to the package, I could swear I caught an approving smile from the old guy, but I was probably getting ahead of myself. While he re-opened his book, I set my attention to the first question:

**What is your experience in combat or self-defense?**  
_'Not much professionally,'_ I wrote, _'I do live in the slums. I've certainly had to bite my way through a few fights. I'm an eager learner, though.'_ Alright, really not the greatest answer I could have given. But it was better than nothing.

**Have you ever handled a crowd? If so, how did you? If not, how would you?  
** _'Handling a crowd requires teamwork, and a sense of authority. If you hold yourself like a superior, people will listen to you. Above most things, one should never display fear or pensiveness, even if there isn't anything that requires your attention. Keeping this sense of authority universal with your colleagues turns your team into an impenetrable wall, and is key in keeping things under control. I can't say I've handled the conventional crowd, but the techniques for handling crowds are generally universal. You just learn these things here and there.'_ Like when you volunteer for a summer camp for your college resume, and realize that every child between six and twelve s the spawn of Satan.

**What is the first step in most emergency first aid situations in which a person is incapacitated?  
**_Damn!_ I thought, _I actually know this one! 'ABC- open the Airway, remove Blockages, and restore Circulation and breathing if necessary.' _Score.

**A person in your area of work is creating a disturbance. What is the correct protocol in most of these cases?  
**_'Escort them out of the area, quietly and efficiently, first using language and persuasion and then by force only if necessary. If the person is violent, it could be crucial to disabling them first. I don't know the actual protocol, but that's what I would follow by.'_

There were twenty three questions similar too these, all written. It took me just over an hour to complete it. Peering up from the test with the tingly sense of moving from a position long-held, I pushed the stack of papers quietly over to Xigbar, who was slouched back and deeply immersed in his book. So immersed, in fact, that it took several throat clearings on my part to startle him alive.

Glancing swiftly up from his book, the rugged man brought a single finger behind the edge of the paper package and slid it into his lap. "Go and introduce yourself to your hopefully new colleagues. At worst, if you're not right for the job, my _ever loyal_ peons will tell you how shitty of a job this is so you won't miss it." He winked. Or exaggeratedly blinked. I don't know what you'd call it. What I did know was that his realistic attitude was strangely comforting, even if I was beginning to question if I'd get hired or not. As I slid out from the pleather-covered aluminum chair, I asked, "So, just… go wherever?"

"Knocking first is a given. Basic professional etiquette. If you're too introverted to introduce yourself alone, get Water Boy to help you. But I don't think you'll have any problems with that, Red." He gave me that wild, all-canines grin again. It was almost as if he was challenging me. "I'll call you back when I'm done checking this over."

I nodded, though I kept my eyes on him. I was beginning to question his methods, so unprofessional and casual, but I really couldn't complain. If I got hired here, I'd have a time. I had to ask, though: "Mr. Mueller," I started, "Why so… Unconventional?"

Xigbar gave me a look. "Would you like me to be conventional?"

I felt the ghost of a grin skip across my lips. "No, Mr. Mueller."

"Good. Now go make yourself at home."

* * *

I wish that I could say that my outgoing nature led me to explore the building on my own. I'd really earn some man points off of that. However, I was so paranoid that Xigbar was just screwing around with me, that I went to the only safe haven I'd had so far: the reception, or, more specifically, Demyx. I really can't blame the guy for laughing at me, but it didn't stop me from tripping him up as he left his desk.

It took about an hour to get through the on-shift employees; about the same amount of time it took Xigbar to read my resume. Practically every employee was on shift, Demyx had told me, because there was a gig going on down at the nightclub 'Dusk' that night, and that they needed every hand they could get. I briefly wondered who got paid to come up with club names, but my resentment was short lived. After all, I almost had myself a job. It was extremely refreshing to acknowledge that. But I'm going off on a tangent.

Demyx introduced me to four employees personally. There was Xaldin, a man who probably had enough body hair to knit a scarf— one of those real coarse, itchy ones— but spoke as if he taught Literature at DI University. His hair was done up in dreads, and he had a startling azure stare that left me with chills to the next office. The next colleague I met was Lexeaus, a tall built man with a practical cropped ginger haircut and an equally practical outlook on life- he hardly uttered a sentence unless needed. Like Xaldin though, he talked like a king, which ruled him out as an all-brawn-no-brain kinda guy. Then there was Luxord, a well-groomed bleach blonde Brit who still had an inkling of an accent under his nearly-Canadian phonetics. He liked to talk in riddle-like sentences, and he sported a collection of various facial piercings. He was a gambler, offering me a game of strip poker right from the get go. I appreciated his brashness, but declined for another time. Possibly the most intimidating out of all of them was Larxene: bleach-blonde, slicked back hair and large, lime green eyes did nothing to reveal their owner's personality. This employee was haughty, curt and less-than-chummy, sending us an irritated glare when we entered the office. Worst of all, she was a girl.

"She can actually be a breath nicer than that," Demyx explained as we left the area where she was holing up, and he leaned in close as if to reveal a government secret to me, "She's just on her period." He hissed conspiratorially. I chuckled.

"I HEARD that!" She barked with venom icing her voice. Demyx's shoulders hunched and he did a funny sort of shuffle-hop-run. It was pretty characteristic to him.

There were also two other employees, away on a blitz ball game at Zanarkand College. In Demyx's words, they were, "Tidus and Wakka. They're like, weird best friends and stuff and… Oh! Tidus is totally cool. He's got feathery blonde hair like this, and he's tan and stuff—But he's not Guido, I swear!... Okay maybe he is. But he's nice. He helps me steal Scarface's eye patches. He's also scary built, but who isn't here!—aside from me. Hey, I could kick your ass if I wanted, don't give me that look. –Oh Wakka! He's from Jamaica, hey? COOLEST. THING. EVER. He's got this crazy bright orange hair—but don't believe him if he says it's natural. It's not."

"And you can vouch for that?"

It took him a moment to get it, "…. No."

Frankly, I was glad that most of the employees were there to be met in person. I had awful first impressions with Wakka and Tidus because of Demyx's descriptions.

* * *

"So," Demyx queried, flopping down at his desk. I took a seat, too alienated to lean against the desk yet, though it was tempting. Instead, I stretched my legs out over the floor, ankles crossed. Demyx took a moment to… I guess marvel at my legs before finishing his sentence. I smirked inwardly. I loved it when people looked at me, "Why're you taking this job? Aside from getting money, I mean?" Hr pulled out a bag of goldfish crackers from some unknown location behind the desk. Somehow it didn't surprise me. The teal-eyed guy tried to toss me a cracker. In combination of it being a lone cracker, me having awful hand-eye coordination, and the cheddar fish being lighter than it looked, it slipped through my fingers to the ground. Undaunted, he scooped up a whole handful and reeled his arm back to throw them at me. I made the smart move of jolting up and presenting my open hands below him instead, receiving the fish without any major hassle. I leaned back into my chair with the relieved ease of someone who had just caught a vase from falling.

"I'm paying off my debt to art," I explained, bitterness hanging in my voice, "took some crap courses in college that did fuck all for my credentials in the real world.

"Well," Demyx hummed lightly, "Did you take courses to pursue a degree, or did you just take courses?"

I stopped short.

"Well there's your problem, guy," The mulleted blonde smiled at me like I was in elementary school. I groaned inwardly, not wanting to hear another word about college and to my joy was saved by the most wonderful words I'd heard in over two months:

"Well, Red, congratulations! Welcome to XIII Safety and Security Corporation. Glad to have you on the team!" Xigbar exclaimed with his animal-like grin as he sauntered into the reception. He came over and slapped my package of answers on my head. "Seventy-eight percent, bud. Pretty decent, but we still need to work on you."

I looked down at myself. I was toned, but more like a dancer than a body guard. Even Demyx had more muscle to him than I did, and that was_ pathetic_. "Hey man, I don't blame you," I agreed, raising an arm limply for emphasis as I met his eye.

"Well, I wasn't talking just about muscle, but you are a bit on the string bean side," He cooed with a cackle hiding in his voice, his hand clasping his chin slightly over his mouth. He then shrugged. "Well, it can't take that long if yer committed. You start training on Sunday, so I'd get ready if I were you."

* * *

When I left that office that day, I was elated. It was the last place I thought I'd ever be working at (Even Wal-Mart was more likely to me), but that hadn't been on my mind at the time: after all, I had a _job _now. The training wasn't as difficult as I'd imagined it to be—Three hours per day working out with Xigbar, being shown various techniques for holds and restraining moves and various other little necessities like how to properly conduct a search, to discern between legit and fake IDs (something I excelled at due to my teenage barhopping) and how to handle basic medical emergencies like someone choking or administering CPR. It wasn't that it was difficult, more as it was grueling. But it was paid training, and when I wasn't training, I was helping Demyx book events and answer phone calls.

I had gotten fairly close to the guy over the course of my work, so much in fact that we began to hang out with each other after hours. We talked about everything from global warming (we were both concerned, but he made a decent effort to change whereas I sat around and sympathized), to ice cream flavors (mine was tiger-tiger, his was cotton candy). I wasn't at all surprised when he told me he was gay. In fact, I was inwardly excited; I was always looking for the opportunity to screw around at that time, because it was this big game to me. My hopes were dashed, though, when he told me he was dating some guy named Yuffie. I let my interest in him romantically drop then.

I made quick acquaintances with the rest of the employees, some even pretty close to calling friends. Tidus and Wakka were always up for a laugh, and were my go-to people when Water Boy wasn't around. Xaldin was absolutely frightening. So was Lexeaus. It wasn't because they were huge packs of muscle, but because they talked so infrequently that I had no clue what to talk about with them to begin with. After a while I accepted that they liked to keep to themselves, and didn't bother talking to them much after that.

Luxord brought out a classy sort of sleaze in me that I didn't know existed until I met him. While he was a gambler and was sleazy as hell, he had an air of sophistication to him. As a stereotype, I assumed that it was because he was from England, and I was totally right. He introduced me to all sorts of cultured things, from wine tastings to cricket and country clubs. I began to develop a small complex, the one where someone tries something new and then concludes that they're an expert at it. Demyx managed to snap me out of it, but my relations with Luxord never changed. I won't leave anything out: we'd even gotten so plastered on wine once that we slept with each other. But neither of us could remember much of the events that transpired, so there wasn't even much content about it to be awkward about and life continued on as usual.

I'd even gotten to know Larxene better, and to this day I can't tell if Demyx was lying when he said that she was nicer than she let on. At first when I talked to her, all she would do was brush me off with some catty remark. When I was on a smoke break once, though, she had come out too and was as startled to see me there as I was to see her walk out. She talked awful about people most of the time, but worked hard and had a soft spot for animal rights. We got along far better when I started to bitch at her about other people, particularly about cutesy pop stars who were making it big. She hated mainstream as much as I did. It didn't take her long before she started hanging all over me, literally trying to get a hand in my pants every turn I took. Normally when people lust after me like that, I have no problem relieving their tensions. But there was something about Larxene that screamed 'CRAZY PSYCHO BITCH' in bright red letters, so I didn't bother trying.

Even Xigbar was pretty good to talk to. Everybody was there to make money for something, but he seemed to keep a caring eye over me above most. Maybe he treated everyone the same and I just didn't notice, but he always made sure I had all the training I needed, hat I always had food on lunch breaks, and that if I was cutting it close on my bills that I had work to do to get me ahead. I did know that I had never been at a job as… family feeling as XIII. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that there were so few employees. But I couldn't complain.

And it wasn't like we were a prosperous company. The owner of the building was only supposed to come once per month, but he made a point of coming once every two weeks to 'remind' Xigbar about the rent, bringing his blue haired henchman with him. The first time he came in, he hardly acknowledged my existence. He _towered_, not so much with his height as he did with his very presence. Tan skin, silver hair, these _piercing_ amber eyes- I honestly couldn't tell you how old this guy was. He seemed like the personification of eternity. He ordered Demyx to lead him to Xigbar, in this deep baritone voice. Demyx, without a smile or a chipper in his voice, uttered a "right this way, Superior' and went to go find the boss. The strange man followed.

His henchman showed his true nature then. He was all soft words and calm smiles when the pair walked in, but the minute that his 'Superior' had left the room, he rushed to me and snared my throat.

"Why were you staring?" He demanded roughly, harshly. His own amber eyes bore intensely into my face, as if the very act would burn it off. If I'd thought Xigbar was going to take a stapler to my face, this guy was just going to skip the stapler and shred me bare handed instead. I had already had some training by then, and I sure as hell wasn't going to take some intimidation tactic from him. I brought my foot around to the back of his knee and attempted to do this trick that Xigbar had taught me called a clothesline. Yeah, I'd had the training, but certainly not enough. Before I even applied any pressure, he slammed my head into the back rail of the chair I was sitting in. My head burst with sudden, heavy pain and white spots flickered in my eyes sporadically. I gasped for air as his snare tightened.

"I-guhh-he's just a-d-ah, different," I choked hurriedly.

"How?" He rumbled quietly, his voice so similar to an animal's that it gave me the willies for days. I'd've pissed myself if I hadn't been brain logged from his head slam.

"Like… ack…" His hold made it a trial to breathe, but it wasn't lethal. "D-dangerous. Like… Like a beautiful white c-cobra…." I couldn't help it. My inner writer still shined through, even to what I thought was near death.

His grip loosened. I caught what I thought was an impressed look, but that could have easily been triumph. "Very well," he said with a sadistic smirk, "Keep it that way." He backed off just in time for Xigbar and the cobra to re-enter the reception. The man with silver hair then smiled an enigmatic smile, eyes gliding from my disheveled body to the beast with blue fur. "Have we introduced ourselves, Saïx?"

Saïx nodded, the motion so extensive that he bowed his upper body slightly in the process. He had possessed that quiet smile on his face again… "Yes, Superior, my _beautiful _white cobra." He murmured, slinking in close to the man's chest.

I gawked. He- he stole my words! Not wanting to admit what I said though, I just let myself sulk.

The cobra's eyes fell to me then, the same smooth, slow motion as before. He smirked at me broadly. I felt a chill. "Very good, Saïx. Yes." He turned to Xigbar. "An excellent choice, Xigbar. Rent is on the 30th." The cobra nodded at Saïx, and the two departed without word.

The room was tense. You could hear a pin drop. Idly, I started thinking about getting some Tylenol for my growing headache. Then Demyx and Xigbar doubled over in shrieking, loud laughter.

"B-beautiful white COBRA?" Xigbar sputtered, trying to speak between fits. "Wh-who the hell are you, _Shakespeare_?"

Demyx was at least… no, no he wasn't. He was a total ass about it too, "S-so what, you got—haha!—you got a thing for Mansex? You need to get laid dude!"

Superior's name was actually Xemnas Heartseek, and his blue henchman was Saïx McCrae. His assault was nothing more than a scare tactic, like I thought, a way to ensure that the new employees had respect and fear for their 'superior', as he was called. Xemnas owned many businesses, some less legal than others and as such the tactics made sense. But it didn't mean that I appreciated it any more. After that, Xemnas kept a particularly keen eye on me. I don't know why, and to be honest, I don't want to. Even after I'd left the company, Xemnas had sent me a letter saying that he was "disappointed that [I] left the company, but was glad I was on the way to Utah and making a living for myself."

I couldn't sleep for a week.

But aside from that, life was life, work was work. I just started chipping away at my debt without having to starve myself to do so. I started making friends that were quickly becoming family. My life felt like it was taking a slow incline upwards. If I had turned back to myself then and told him that after three months of working at XIII Security that all my dreams would come true, I'm sure that I'd've: one, laughed. Two, asked myself to repeat it. Three, laughed again. Four, realized I was talking to my future self, and five, got shitfaced at a pub with Demyx to forget such a horrifying thing.

Which would mean that I would still be here today. But honestly, I'm grateful for it.

Wasting my time at college for nothing ended up being the best choice I had ever made.


	2. Ch2: Body Language

**A/N:** FFFFFFFFFFF. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME, I'M SO SORRY.

I realize that this is a story that won't have any scheduled updates- rather, it'll be a miracle if it updates at all. But I_ promise_ if I ever do discontinue this that I'll post my plot line, so you guys don't have to not know where it was going to go. So, unless the update is labelled 'plot line', the story is still a go!...

Just, you know, a really slow go. So for my WHOLE THREE REVIEWERS, THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT AND LOVELY. ;3; I'll do my bestest to beat myself into updating better. I'm sorry if it feels a little raw- I figure you guys would have wanted this now as opposed to later, even if it's not nit-picked. There's an extra seven pages in this as an apology, and that's on size eleven font. ;D So this is quite a fat chapter.

I now know more about Jesse McCartney than I've ever cared to know- he's five foot ten on estimate, he's coming out with his own cologne, and he's naturally a brunet. However, he's still more adorable as his long-haired-moppy-blonde-she's-no-you self.

...However, his new haircut doesn't stop me from wanting to have sexy times with him. ;D -LOL TMI WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME, EVERYONE. I'M SO SORRY FOR BEING ALIVE.

So, here's to continuing to mutilate Jesse McCartney's love life! ;D Please tell me you've heard body language; it's pretty much his fifth best song ever. Huhuhu~ GO, MY LOVELIES. READ AND CRY.

**Also, I'm sorry:** I suck at working timelines. Axel starts working on March 13th, not June 13th. –orrrrz- I am quite the derp, so so so sorry.

Disclaimer: Along with not owning Kingdom Hearts, I also don't own Jesse McCartney. If I did, I wouldn't be wasting my time writing fanfiction. I'd be wasting time in bed with him. ;D OP THERE I GO AGAIN~

* * *

Chapter 2: Body Language

Those three months were apparently some of the busiest of the year. I definitely joined up at the right time. It was right in the beginning of what Xigbar called concert season, which was pretty much the ideal time when all the high-end bands came to play in Edmonton. It meant good business because the concert halls were always looking for last-minute hands, and clubs and bars always needed more security for the high traffic after performances. Everyone had mixed feelings about this at XIII.

Of course everyone was generally happy, because business equaled profit. But our opinions split down the road from there. Xigbar was evidently pleased with the new pull in of business, and clubs were opening every year so it was just another opportunity to get the company's name out. Xaldin thought the whole thing was distasteful, people shelling out money for entertainers. But he felt the same way about hockey and football season, too. Good to know he wasn't bias.

Lexeaus, true to his practical side, didn't care as long as he was being paid. Luxord saw it as an opportunity to be the social moth that he was. Larxene hated all the teenage squealers, but looked at it as a chance to try and bang a celebrity. I'm not sure if she ever succeeded with that.

Demyx was reasonably ecstatic, because to him it meant meeting some of the greats and the to-be greats. I know he practically pissed himself in excitement when we were working a pub one night and Johnny 'Bon-Jovi' walked in. Dem is a real music guy, actually, so I can see why he'd be thrilled about concert season. He plays guitar and sings, and he wanted to know how to get to the big stages like the celebrities.

But how did I feel about all this?

I fucking hated it.

Maybe I was still bitter over my lack of future in the arts, I don't know. What I do know was that I was good at what I did, I had all this artistic energy pent up and ready to be thrown into the world, and the only thing I was missing was a connection.

And yet B!mb0 down the block could puke into a microphone, have it auto-tuned, and her name would be plastered all over the world because Uncle Joe was a music producer or some shit. And don't even get me _started_on the teen idols; the boys with the androgynous long blonde hair that just stood there, looked pretty, and wrote the music that the record companies told them to write.

In contrast, I loved artists who I knew worked their asses off to be famous, like Ozzy and Death Cab and RHCP and Eminem. But if you just popped into the scene with absolutely no effort, like the Disney pop tarts, I felt as if you had no right to be there. I _abhorred_Disney pop tarts for this single fact. I abhorred Disney pop tarts for everything possible, really, and I made that loud and clear to all of my colleagues.

I remember waiting for a club shift to start, and I was chilling in the lounge with the rest of my colleagues. We entertained ourselves by playing cards, the little stereo system in the background blaring the top forties. They could be hits and misses, but like the skills of the Oilers, they were mostly misses.

Demyx, Luxord and I were just getting into things when this god-awful dime-a-dozen song intruded on the background noise. The lyrics were average, at best, with such memorably eloquent phrases such as, "But then I saw her at the corner store- so I ran on over just to grab the door" and, "one day she started textin' me, asked if she could borrow that recipe". Of course I thought, 'who the hell is writing this crap this time?', when Demyx suddenly stopped dead-cold with this deer-in-the-headlights look on his face. His jaw fell ajar. "I think I know who this is." He uttered, as if to answer my mental query. Upon mentioning this, I took a second listen to the song. There was something about the syrupy, smooth voice that echoed something familiar to me. Silently, I noted, it wasn't autotuned. Impressive.

Suddenly Demyx brightened like a kid on Christmas day. "Oh my _God,_ it's _Roxas McCartney!_~" He nearly shrieked, turning the radio up. Larxene groaned in the background. Luxord chuckled. Even Xigbar and Xaldin couldn't help sharing a grin. I deadpanned.

It was a bit of a shock, I wouldn't lie. Where did the cheesy-ass, 'I want you and your beautiful soul' prepubescent lyrics run off to? It was as if the pop star was trying to be… hip. As I continued to listen, I had it confirmed; it was a song about comparing love to a drug. I grinned.

Disney must have been having a _fit._

"I didn't know that a Disney startlet was even allowed to stoop that low," I commented with a sardonic grin, "this song is suck crap. Who is he trying to be, the next A-kon?"

Demyx, who had been hip-knocking to the song the whole time, gave me the dirtiest look I'd ever seen from him in my life. It wasn't really that terrifying, but I gave him props for trying. "He is _not,_" Water Boy huffed indignantly, "He's breaking away from Disney." The smile on his face was practically shit-eating.

"Jumping from the frying pan into the flames, I'd say." I raised the stakes in our poker game, "He's an idiot. The only guy worse than him is Vennie Bieber, and that's 'cause he's a midget Roxas McCartney."

Demyx plopped down at the table and chucked a poker chip at my head. I caught it with a swift hand and put it in my chip pile with a satisfying click. "You're just bitter," Demyx retorted, "He's doing better than any of the other Disney stars are. You never hear bad news about him!"

"You never hear news about him period." It was worth the look on his face to have him kick my shin. "And he's still a Disney star, and he still got in because he had connections. Remember that stupid Struggle Street boyband he was in the nineties?"

"He's also the only guy from that band who had a surviving career after they disbanded." Demyx folded. It was just me and Luxord now. "Do you know why they disbanded? Because the managers tried to make the band members quit school and their parents wouldn't let it happen. I'm proud of him, frankly, and none of your pissy talk is going to make me think differently." His little insult made me choke on a chuckle.

"Now boys, calm it down." Xigbar reminded us with a stern look. We were the last employees who'd ever duke it out, but I couldn't blame him for being cautious.

I wasn't letting Demyx's opinion have any leeway on my own, though: "That was their parent's decision, Dem, not the kids'. I'm sure that any kid would have chosen wooing girls over school any day." I spread my cards to the table. "You lose, Luxord. Full house."

* * *

One week later, I walked into work, and I just felt that something was up. When I entered the building, everyone I passed flashed me this awful smile, the 'I know something you don't know' sort that made you grit your teeth. I didn't feel like playing guessing games that day, so I took a seat in the lounge, eavesdropping on a petty argument between Xigbar and Demyx.

"But Xig, I really, really like him! Like lots! Why does he get to go if he thinks the guy's stupid?" Upon being aware of my presence on the couch behind him, Demyx glanced behind his shoulder and beamed. "We're talking about you," and went back to the conversation.

At least he was honest.

"Demyx, Axel is going just for that reason. If I know he won't maul the poor kid from excitement like you, he fits the bill." My stomach tensed a little at this. I didn't like the direction of this conversation… "On top of that, Demyx, you should know how hard it is to pay off college bills. Red needs this." Xigbar acknowledged me with a half-glance. I guess he wasn't as comfortable talking about someone who was in the same room as Water Boy was. Xigbar's chin cocked up as he remembered something. "And, hey! How many times have I pulled strings so you could do work for people you like? Jim Carrey, Coldplay, Relient K…" Xigbar cocked an eyebrow at him. "Yer a spoiled brat sometimes."

Demyx's face wrinkled either in offense or in contemplative thought. Finally, he dismissed, puffing out his cheeks with a held in sigh before smiling placidly. "Yeah, I guess that's fair." I couldn't tell if he was mad or not, until he scooted his chair around to face me in creaky grinds. "You'll get me something autographed, right bud?" He beamed.

Oh lord. Here we go. "Autographed? By who?" I was almost afraid to ask. I ran a hand through my fiery mane, a sort of distracting tick for me.

"Axel, Roxas McCartney's—" FUCK. "—tour is down one guard, and they need a last minute replacement for tonight's show. I told them I'd be sending you."

I left no time to hesitate. "Give it to Demyx." Water Boy practically wet himself in happiness, but his hopes were dashed by Xigbar's unmoved expression.

"Don't you _dare_ tell me your taste of music is making you refuse this, Axel. That's a shitty attitude and I expect a hell of a lot better from you." His frown was stern and he ushered me over. Effectively putting my foot in my mouth, I grabbed a chair and tucked myself in.

"I know you've been complaining about bills lately," he started, lowering his voice, "and I've been looking for something that'll help you out. I know you'd take a shit on this guy if you could, Axel, but this job is paying big."

Attempting to control my laughter from the shitting remark, I breathed, "Big like… Big like how?"

"Six hundred and eighty bucks."

That shut me up. That was more than enough money to cover the three hundred I needed for my rent, and with more to spare for other things… I ran my hand through my hair again. I felt a ghost of a smile on my lips. "S-so uh… What does this job entail…?" See, I told you he looked out for me.

Xigbar smiled. He knew he was getting ground with me. "You're just a stage guard. Nothing you haven't been acquainted to before. If you're lucky, you might actually get to meet the kid." He bore his feral grin at me. I knew Scarface was getting some sort of sick entertainment out of this. I wrinkled my nose at him in response.

"Yeah, whatever. So when's this thing again? Tonight?" I was in to do a gig at the nightclub Flash tonight, something I wasn't really that inclined to doing anyways as the owners of Flash were frugal assholes.

"Right on the money, kid." Xigbar clicked his tongue and flipped through a clipboard he'd been fiddling with. They want you for six so they can run you through everything you need to do. The concert starts at seven and ends at eleven, which means you'll prolly be making it back here at around midnight-ish." Six hours. It was five right now, which meant I had about half an hour to until I needed to head out.

Demyx took this opportunity to pipe in with his goldfish headphones. "Hey. Hey, hey Axel." He prodded my arms with the fluorescent objects. "You're my bud right? You'd get these signed for me, right? 'Cause, you know, you're my best pal?"

Thirty minutes, I reminded myself. Thirty minutes to steel myself up for this trial.

* * *

"Oh? Oh hey, I'm Axel Carson. A-X-E-L, got it memorized?"

"Absolutely, A-X-E-L got-it-memorized. I'll just show you where the others are."

Just keep smiling, Red.

Just. Keep. Smiling.

I was led from the sky-blue and slate waiting room into a hallway in the back, which came off as dingy in comparison to the waiting room. The rafters were visible, the walls a simple porous concrete with maroon pipes crawling up its surface. Two lefts, a right, another left… I didn't understand how tour staff didn't get lost in the mazes.

My temporary boss, a man with pale blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, introduced himself: "My name is Cloud Strife. I'm the Personal Security Manager on Roxas' tour, which pretty much means that anyone under my lead deals with Roxas personally- so stuff like getting him to and from destinations, keeping supervision during autographing sit-outs, or keeping supervision over potentially 'high risk' areas such as stairwells to the stage or entrances to VIP rooms." Cloud gave me a stony, searching gaze. "It's evidently a very important job."

"Oh, yes. I would imagine." I nodded calmly, resisting the urge to run my fingertips through the tied-up mess that was now my hair, as I was at a loss as to what to say next. Thankfully, Cloud filled it in for me.

"I'm told that your company is the best in this city." His searching gaze followed up and down my body skeptically, and I couldn't help but feel as though I was being examined like a piece of fruit for any visible blemishes. I couldn't tell if he had found any yet, if there were any to be found. "And I'm also told that in your company, you are the most suited for this job." He flicked his gaze up to me. I realized now that he was actually a few inches shorter than me, but his personal presence made him seem _far_ taller. Now _that _was doing the job right.

If this had been me three months ago, I'm sure I would have blubbered on about how I could be glorified sometimes but that didn't necessarily make it the case. But under Xigbar's hand, I'd transformed from socially-awkward string bean to a self-confident guy who sure as hell could hold his own. Biting away an urge to smile, I straightened my already-strong posture and gave a firm nod. "Yes, sir. You can have confidence in my abilities to fill the position you need."

"That's what I like to hear." While he bore what looked like an almost-relieved smile, I could still read a troubled look in his eyes. I could infer that he wasn't too set on the idea of letting some 'street punk' fill in for such an important job, so in hopes of clearing something up, I continued, "I'm going to guess that this isn't something you'd do in your protocol normally, huh?"

Cloud ran his fingertips up through his hairline to his loose cowlicks, exhaling a hefty sigh. "What we normally do is we send off a message to upper management and they fly someone in for us. Normally, we also have a back-up replacement for occasions like this. But…" His eyes narrowed at the halls in front of us, and he took another left suddenly. I skipped a little on my feet to catch up. "The hand you're replacing was lost because of his inappropriate behavior, and our replacement is already covering for someone who had to take leave. There's no time to fly someone in."

"So you're stuck between a rock and a hard place."

Cloud's lips tipped to a light smirk. "I haven't heard that one in a while. Sure, let's go with that." His biceps fell slightly lax as some of the tension released from his body. "You seem like a guy with a good head on his shoulders. I hope," His gaze was hard then, piercing, "that aspect translates into your work ethic." He paused at a solid, grey-painted door. "Here we are, Axel."

The security room was of equal quality as the back-door hallways were, white plaster and grey tiles reflecting just how little money the stadium owners put into this room. Which was practical, after all, as it was just a staff room. It had a selection of mismatched furniture, of which consisted of three couches, a half a dozen metal lawn chairs, two fold-up tables with coffee and possibly-stale Tim Horton's confections, and a little wooden coffee table in the center of the couches.

The amount of people in the room made it feel slightly crowded. Among the men in the room, one of them piped up. "Oh hey! Strifey, you caught yourself a fire-crotch?" My eyes shot to the source of the voice, some guy with messy silver hair that hung in dead strings around his face. If he hadn't spoken, I wouldn't have been able to tell if he was a guy or a girl. At a loss for answers, I looked over to Cloud for some sort of cue.

Strife sent him a look so sharp that it could cut diamonds. The offending guy sat up suddenly, beaming like a child on Christmas day. "Axel, that's Kadaj, our…" The blonde eyed Kadaj with stern contemplation, "our… 'Comic Relief'."

I realized that he wasn't the only guy with silver hair in the room. This would be confusing. I forced a good-natured grin to my lips. "'Sup." It wasn't the first time I'd been called Fire-Crotch, so I wasn't too affected. He didn't reek of any malicious intent, so I let it drop.

Cloud took the opportunity to make introductions. "Everyone, this is Axel Carson." He gestured a hand from me to the rest of the guys in the room. "Axel, this is my crew." He started picking off names for the faces I was attempting to commit to memory.

"Riku."

"'Sup?"

"Zack."

"Good to meet'cha!"

"Seifer."

"…"

"Hayner."

"Don't mind Seif. He's on his man-period."

"Good one, chicken wuss. Get that one from Cosmo?"

"Actually—"

"Boys, shut it. Terra."

"Good to have you."

"Vanitas."

"Hey, hot stuff."

I did my best to stifle a smile at his brashness.

"And then those two are Yazoo and Loz, Kadaj's brothers. They keep him in line." Cloud smiled a thin, dry smile at the pack. They gave him simultaneous thumbs-up. "There's also Leon, but he'll be joining us late."

Vanitas bore a wide smirk, showing off his canines. "It's 'cause Cloud gave him a good ass-plowing last night. I'm jealous." The black haired teen reclined in the couch he was sprawled on, tipping his head back into his palms set behind his head. "Only Leon could get leave 'cause of sex."

The crudeness of this remark made me shoot a glance back to Cloud, who to my surprise was absolutely unfazed by Vanitas' commentary. "Good for you, Vanitas. You just volunteered yourself to tour Axel around the building while the rest of us break before the show."

Vanitas' eyes fell to me for a moment with a ghost of a grin before he assumed an aloof, apathetic look and rose from his seat as if he owned the place. "Yes, _Mr. Strife_." He approached me, grabbing my wrist with a touch of a smirk. "Let's get going, hot stuff." I felt my stomach twist in excitement and uneasiness as he led me from the room.

* * *

Apparently, Vanitas getting sent to work with me was all his idea. He thought I looked interesting, he said, and he was bored of hanging around his crowd for so long.

I had to admit, he was pretty striking himself: Raven black hair spiked up in every direction, with these intense hazel eyes that gave me an eerie reminder of Xemnas I realized this was cause of a coyly-applied set of colors to his eyes. He donned the dark grey 'Security' polo that the rest of the employees wore, but he had rebelled with obviously non-regulation black jeans with various unnecessary snaps. His face was littered with tiny gold studs; little replacements for what I assumed were more outstanding pieces of jewelry, showing that he still had to follow some regulations under no circumstances

I can't remember a whole lot about what he ended up showing me, mostly because he didn't really show me much to begin with. Actually, we spent most of the occasion making out in the bathroom stalls. Yeah, I know, too much. But he was pretty hot and I wasn't going to deny someone like _him._

But time permitting, we didn't have a whole lot. After a half an hour passed, we had to make ourselves presentable, and I spent most of the walk back attempting to will a hard-on away. I was happy for my adolescent years, otherwise I'd've had no practice with this. But we made it back safe and sound, and the real work resumed as usual.

We had scarcely fifteen minutes before everyone needed to be in their according locations. The room was lit up with this unspoken agitation, kinda like when a class will be dismissed in five minutes and everyone begins packing up their things early. Kadaj was tapping out a hasty little rhythm on the couch armrest. The two rivals were bickering with less momentum now that their audience was no longer fresh.

Cloud, being a guy who took his job seriously, was reviewing the floor plan for all who cared to listen. I couldn't help but smile. Mr. Strife was almost polar opposite of Xigbar in terms of looks, but their values seemed to be the same. Cloud acknowledged me with a nod, and, without having to think much on the subject, I sidled up to the blonde to get a good look at what my job was entailing.

While we were reviewing, I noticed that Cloud made a point to refer to everyone by name. I assumed it was for my benefit, so I made sure to try and connect name to face as best as I could. Cloud, Zack, Terra, Vanitas… Heifer and Sayner, and um… Ah, forget it. I had the people on my division memorized, so I couldn't really be bothered by much else. I wasn't surprised at where I was placed tonight.

"Again, Carson, our break will be handling the upper left stage complex. Terra and Zack are taking the bottom stairwell, and we are taking the top of it."

It sounds like a big deal, but it really isn't. There's at least four other levels of security that any high risk would need to pass through to get to us. What we really handle is emergencies that can occur on-stage, such as medical concerns with stage hands or accessories like dancers and singers, falling props and safety hazards, or the very rare chance of a fan that could sneak up stage. If anything did happen to Roxas, though, it was our foremost responsibility to handle that.

In that consideration, my role was fairly vital, and I was curious as to why I'd been placed in it, until I remembered that Cloud was the one accompanying me. I figured that it was because, if anything did go wrong with me, he could make sure first-hand that I didn't jeopardize anything. Smart move.

Cloud, upon the run-down concluding itself, clapped his hands. "Alright, men, let's keep it safe out there tonight." It was everyone's cue to get up and get ready to leave. As I stood there, feeling slightly at loss while everyone set themselves up with gear, one of the silver haired guys approached me. He was already donned in his holster and shirt, something he probably already had put on beforehand. "Come on, I'll get you your stuff." He threw his head behind his shoulder. "Cloud, where are the shirts?"

"In the box underneath the table."

"Got it." I followed him over to the table and watched him duck under it, rifling through the contents of the box and chucking out the various items he figured he needed. He threw the shirt up to me, instructing me to don it. I slid the slate polo over my black tank top, flopping it at the rims. It was a bit too big for my tastes, but I wasn't going to ask for a better one. "So, Axel…" He started, plucking up the objects on the floor and setting them beside the coffee maker. "What's there to do in Edmonton?" He asked with a cool, friendly smile. Ahh, small-talk.

"Well, do you want cheap tourist attractions, or real fun?" I glanced at Cloud, who was tucking his shirt in. I grabbed the hem of my own, debating if I should follow suit, but my colleague noticed my intentions and waved it off.

"Gimme both." He unwound a black belt with various pockets and loops, tossing it at me.

I strung the nylon belt through my jean loops, tightening it at the waist. "West Edmonton Mall."

He handed me the corresponding objects that went on the belt, introducing me to what they were by name: flash light (something he called a torch), a security guard's baton (ASP, whatever that meant), a little first aid kit about the size of a lunch box, pepper spray. "And?"

"West Edmonton Mall. The answer's the same for both."

He chuckled. I wondered if I'd just made a joke. "World's largest indoor shopping mall, right? I guess it's better than the world's largest nickel."

I gave him a questioning look. He laughed. "Yeah, it's exactly what you think. Sudbury, Ontario, man. It's bigger than it sounds. You got it lucky here though, uh…" His teal eyes pondered mine quizzically, as if he'd be able to find the answer in my own.

"Axel."

"Yeah, Axel. I'm Riku, again, if you're like me and forgot."

Riku! Yeah. Riku, Riku, Riku. Got it. "It's okay; I can be pretty bad with names, too." I ran my fingertips through my ponytail, glancing away. Some of the employees had already begun to file out of the room.

To finalize the ritual, Riku handed me a three-piece headset. "This part goes on your ear, this goes on your shirt, and this goes in your pocket. There's a button on the ear set that you can use to talk, and there's also one on the pocket piece." With a smirk, Riku patted me on the shoulder. "Ready to rock?"

"I thought he was a pop star." I muttered with a grin as I clipped the headset on. A part of my brain started to press, a reminder of how annoying the night was supposed to be. I wrinkled my nose slightly.

"Pfsh, right." He chuckled. "I like you, man." Cloud was waiting for me at the doorway. The stoic blonde nodded at me, arms crossed. _Let's go_, he seemed to say. I started to walk towards him, but before I could, Riku grabbed me by the upper arm. "One more thing: that kid, Vanitas?"

I cocked an eyebrow at him. Here we go. "Yeah? What about him?" I kept my face in rehearsed neutrality.

Riku lowered his voice, bowing his head beside mine as he tied his long, silky hair back in a loose ponytail. "It's your choice, but I'd keep away from him. He's bad news."

I opened my mouth to question why, but Cloud interrupted my query. "Men, we're going. Hop to it."

Glancing back to him, I nodded with a hurried walk. "Thanks for the tip," I murmured, picking up my pace to catch up with Cloud. I kept my eyes to the halls in front of us, which were beginning to fill with sounds of last-minute preparations, like an orchestra warming up before their symphony.

Or a four year old opening the cupboards to find the wooden spoon so he can start banging on pans. Yeah, that analogy felt _far _more fitting. _I can't believe I'm doing this. _

* * *

_I can't believe I'm doing this. _

The crowd was shrieking, their separate voices melding into one chaotic crescendo of pure noise. Didn't they realize that no single one of them could be heard individually? Didn't they realize that this kid didn't give a shit about them as separate persons?

Light shows bounced off and up and over and around again, their colors blinding and obnoxious. We were tucked into just the right position to be blinded every time a strobe light made its way around, and I was constantly plagued with spots in my vision.

The floor rumbled, reverberating underneath my feet from the turbo-bass. I'd long gotten over the way my knees shook under the reverberations, but earlier in the show it was difficult to maintain firm footing. Being that close to a sound system could not have been healthy. It was a mess of light and sound and nose. So. Much. Noise.

Speaking of noise, the pop tart was just finishing his song. Thank God.

"Heh, thank you, thanks guys. You know…" He tilted his head around. I couldn't see his face, but I could tell he was being blinded by the spot lights in front of his vision. "You guys are… fantastic. The cities I've been to have _nothing_ on Edmonton."

And the crowd shrieked. Horrendous noise. I rolled my eyes. They say that about every city they go to.

The blonde handed off his mic to a stage hand while he unzipped his jersey jacket, sliding it off of his arms to reveal a black sleeveless tee. He glistened with sweat, the droplets of moisture reflecting the light like glitter. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. How many rabid fans, I wondered, would kill for a view like this?

"It's getting hot up in here," The blonde tipped his head back, running his fingertips through his hair with a smooth sigh, something he made a show of exhaling into the microphone. The fans jittered with overwhelmed, high pitched sounds of joy. You could hear his breathing in the microphone. He chuckled breathily and slung his jacket over his shoulder, the metallic material impairing my vision as it bounced light.

"You know... Every time I'm up here like this, it never ceases to amaze me how impossible it feels. I think to myself…" The blonde paused to himself. I could hear a smile in his voice. How annoying. "Wow, am I one lucky guy. 'Cause I sing for you guys, you know? The youth. I sing to say, 'hey. Go for your dreams, even if you think they're impossible'. Because even if they're impossible… I think, every single one of you has it in themselves to accomplish that."

NOOOISSSE. I wrinkled my brow and tried to focus on other things. I looked over at Cloud to see if he had any cues to give me. He was busy talking to another security guard on his team. I couldn't make out a word he was saying, and their conversation in my ear was just another piece of noise. He'd been like this all night, actually, so I left him alone.

Figuring that he was still a part of my job, I kept my eyes on him. Roxas McCartney, the kid currently giving them some bullshit speech. The power of friendship, sparkles, rabbits, and chocolate covered cyanide. It would make me barf, if I wasn't so focused on the job.

"But anyway, enough talking. You guys wanna hear some MUSIC!" He threw his microphone arm out to the crowd. It felt like a tsunami of sound blasted in my direction. I'd been to many concerts in my life. ACDC was the loudest one. Yet somehow, I couldn't hear myself think over all this crap. Drums filtered into it, and the crowd went nuts.

"Oooh that body's like music to my ears, Oooh that body's like music to my ears." The pop star leaned in, hand cupped around his ear. His background dancers/singers joined in. The blonde's sleeves flipped around him over his shoulder as he entered a little dance routine while he sang. His voice wavered a little on what I knew was supposed to be a high note, and my lips tightened. This wasn't the first time it happened- yet I knew at that point, it being at least the seventh song in the set, that he would get better as the song moved on.

Talented fuck.

"Now I don't speak Spanish, Japanese or French, but the way that body talkin' definitely makes sense," He cooed into the mic, swaying his foot back, forth, changing his direction as if he had mutilated the Cadillac Ranch. His footwork looked impressive for someone who was singing, but I knew that it was just fancy tricks. The blonde spun around, the motion taking his windswept spikes up a level. His eyes locked with mine and he smiled, continuing to sing, "You make me wanna say, HEY!" He threw his arm out to the audience, and turned around. But by that point, the damage had already been done.

I had smiled _back._

Of all times for my nervous ticks to rear their ugly heads, it had to be then. There I was, insulting this kid for everything I could find, and I'd fucking smiled.

"Oh well," I muttered under my breath. "I'm mocking him. He can pretend I'm another one of his stupid, undying fans." I was thankful for the sheer noise in the place, otherwise I'm sure I'dve been mauled by some nearby fan. I'd been itching to share these remarks with someone who agreed with me, but Cloud was my only companion- still being distracted by Kadaj making a scene, from what I remember.

"Parle vous francais? Konichiwa, come and move in my way," His pronunciation was wrong. I grinned with malice. Of course a pop star would botch the lyrics he wrote.

_Overall, the show was awful, _I annunciated in my head like some hot-shot critic, _the music was nonsensical, his voice was off-key, and his dancing was poor to say the least. It's a concert, McCartney, not a rodeo show. _I crossed my arms and leaned back into a metal beam, keeping eyes on any suspicious activity. It was going to be a dull night.

* * *

And, like I'd predicted, the night ended up being severely boring. Roxas eventually tossed his jacket into the crowd, sang about seven more songs, threw out a towel he'd wiped his face with, accidently hit one of his dancers in the face with his hand, and bullshitted to the fans some more. Of course, every single one of them ate it up with this undying loyalty contorting their faces. Oh, the cult of the pop star.

It was later into the night at around ten, when the show was 'officially' over and a sufficient encore was handed out, the stage closed. Now, the noise of the crowd was replaced with a different sort: the clanging, thudding, clacking and rumbling sounds of a stage set being disassembled. It was nowhere near as loud as the concert itself, but being reintroduced an environment that wasn't constantly sound made every other sound seem piercing and muffled at the same time. I picked a finger into my ear, feeling a little bit out-of-body in comparison to my environment.

That was when Roxas came jogging down the stage, slowing his pacing as he drew close. I was suddenly aware of how short he was in real life. He stood more than half a foot shorter than me at my six-foot-two. I wanted to laugh at that, but I kept a professional mask on.

"Hey, Roxas. Good job tonight." Cloud cocked a light eyebrow at him, his lips tilted up in a small smile. Roxas' smile took a run for Cloud's, apparently oblivious to how frazzled the security manager was. I felt my nose wrinkle a little at his inconsideration, but I stifled it. Just keep smiling, Axel.

Just. Keep. Smiling.

The pop star reached out to Cloud, and to my surprise, tipped him with a strong hug. "Saw you dealing with crap. Kadaj again?" He asked as the embrace was returned before pulling away. Strife, in response, rolled his eyes.

"He tried hitting on a fan that was sneaking around the security bars. Of course she wasn't going for it, and they made a scene all night." Cloud tilted his head down and ran his fingers through his hair. "Roxas, it boggles the mind that you chose to let your cousins work as personal security."

In response, the pop star grinned, twisting the collar of his shirt in his fingertips and using it to wipe the sweat off his brow. "And I've never felt safer. You guys wouldn't let me get hurt." I stopped short. So Cloud and Kadaj… were Roxas' family? In extension, I figured the other two silver guys and Riku were family, too.

Never was I as glad as to not have an audience for my mockery as I was at that moment. I have to wonder how badly my pay would have suffered for hating on my manager's cousin. I did what I thought was a subtle double-take between Cloud and Roxas. They were strikingly similar, of course they were.

Apparently, I wasn't subtle enough. My movement caught McCartney's attention, and the pop tart perked his glance in my direction. "And you're the new replacement, hey? I gotta say, thanks for keeping an eye on things while Cloud was busy." He ran a hand through his straw-colored hair, which fell in moistened points at his forehead. Like cousin, like cousin, I figured.

"Psh, it wasn't a big deal. I'm paid for it, remember?" I tried to keep my response from being curt. I flashed my money-winning smile at him. "Great show tonight. You wavered at times, but I'm sure your voice gets tired sometimes. I wouldn't know."

Apparently, my remark unsettled him a little. Saturated blue eyes opened up more to me, and his lips twitched with an indecisive smile. "You heard it too, huh? I keep telling my voice coach I'm doing that, but," The blonde laughed an empty sound, "he says it's a part of my 'natural' charm."

I gave him a grim smile, stuffing my hands in my pockets. Take _that_, pop tart. "I don't think so. This is the first time I've heard you live, but I'm sure people pay to see your real talent, not your 'natural charm'. Again though, good show." Suddenly, a hit of discomfort struck me. I felt Cloud's eyes on me, but I didn't dare look to analyze the look. If I lost my pay over some stupid remark…

He must have felt it, because he laughed. Not the hollow sort like before, but an all-out guffaw. "Oh, calm down! I'm not gonna bite your head off." He patted my upper arm and walked ahead. "C'mon."

Swallowing my fear, I looked at Cloud. To my surprise, he was wearing a full smile.

"That's the first time I've seen someone have the guts to criticize him," The stage manager uttered under his breath to me as we followed the pop star, his voice giving off a note of impression. "I approve." He walked forward, ahead of Roxas. My footing lost pace as I took in what he said. Did I just win bonus points?

After that was a grueling meet-and-greet. Fans paid big bucks to get a ticket to this shin-dig, and half of them were bat-shit crazy. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy, having to put on alluring smiles and casual laughs to the strangers who were telling him that they dreamt of having his kids someday.

_Creepy. _

Thankfully for all of us, it only lasted for an hour. After restraining a couple of fans sobbing about how they couldn't live without Roxas, McCartney bid them goodnight and we all got the hell out of there. After handing over equipment, and discussing my payment, we made our way to escorting Roxas back to his trailer.

"That… Jennica girl was pretty cool," the blonde quipped, "and Sam, and Shay, and James." He filtered through the slips of paper he was given by various fans, crumpling a few every so often and letting them fall to the floor in little paper crumbles. I laughed.

"Does that happen often?" I couldn't help asking. My mind prickled with excitement at the idea of this brat getting that kind of harassment every show.

"Actually, Edmonton hasn't been bad for it," He replied with a casual shrug, sticking the rest of his papers into his baggy grey jeans. "Often the bigger cities don't leave me with a lot of breathing room in the meet-and-greets. I like the smaller cities, because sometimes I get a chance to have real conversations with these people." He left his hands in his pockets as we made our way out to the trailers.

Cloud, Leon, Hayner, Seifer and Kadaj were walking ahead of us, Riku, Loz, Yazoo, Terra, Zack and Vanitas walking behind us. I was beside Roxas, due to the fact that he refused to stop talking to me. I bowed my head a bit into the collar of my polo, biting the inside of my cheek. It was difficult not to say something snarky all the time.

Cloud slowed to a stop as they neared a towering black bus, 'McCartney' streaking the side of it in a spidery silver handwriting. All of the tour buses looked identical to this one. I figured Cloud knew the pick based on the license plate number. "Alright, men, we have tonight here and tomorrow at eleven, we'll be packing up to get to our next destination. Use the night wisely, and if you're not here at eleven sharp, we leave without you. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" The personal security team barked, along with Roxas, in unison. I felt slightly out of place, and kept attention away from myself by glancing off to the distance. An hour after the concert let out, and there were still a few fans littering the streets. As the security guards broke away from each other, Cloud lingered behind. "So what's your game plan tonight, Roxas?"

"Hm. I dunno, sleep sounds cool. Sleep is what you want me to do, right?" He cocked an amused eyebrow at his taller cousin, who returned the look with sarcasm.

"But sleep isn't what you're going to do, is it." Cloud's voice was deadpan.

"Nah."

"Just going on the towns?"

I watched the conversation. Eventually, I tuned out. The few stars above us were masked by the piercing white fluorescent lamps above us. Cars on the nearby freeway created vortexes of dragging, smooth noise. I picked a finger into my ear again. I was still suffering the concert's onslaught of sound, the world feeling slightly muffled. I felt my ear pop, and I twitched my eye shut as the white noise smoothed out from the left side of my body. I took in a breath, stuffing my hands in my pockets. The evening smelled fresh. It was going to rain tonight.

"—Right, Axel?"

Oh. Someone was talking to me. "Huh? Sorry," I knocked the side of my head in emphasis, "Concert made it hard to hear. What'd you say?" I looked over at McCartney.

"I said, you probably know this city better than any of us. Wanna show me some last minute site tonight?"

My brow wrinkled. The last thing I wanted to do was show Mr. McCartney around the town like some trophy wife. "Ehh, I'll pass. I'm kind of tired. Cloud's right. You should probably sleep, if you're leaving that early."

"Oh." His voice fell, almost crestfallen. That indecisive smile twitched at his mouth again, and he ran his fingers up through his hair. "You're probably right." He looked over at Strife. "That's not fair, getting someone to gang up on me!"

"Love you too, Roxas." Cloud cocked an eyebrow at the blonde pop star, holding a stern look to his face.

Roxas held this look with Cloud for a moment, but it didn't take long before he broke out laughing. He stuffed his hands in his pockets before traipsing over to the trailer door. "Fine, fine. I'll go to bed." He shrugged lightly, climbing the stairs. As he opened the door, he turned around to look at me. "Kinda sucks that we're leaving tomorrow; you seem like a pretty cool guy."

"No, you do too. Any other time, dude, but I have too many things going on tomorrow." _Such as pulling my teeth out with pliers, or making toothpick castles, or painting my roses red- anything would be more pressing than hanging out with you._

Roxas shook his head lightly, his cerulean blue eyes catching mine. "Nah, I got it. Maybe we'll catch each other on some weird twist of fate?" Before I had a chance to answer, he let himself into the door. "Goodnight, Axel! It was nice meeting you."

…Funny, I couldn't remember telling him my name.

* * *

"Honey, I'm home," I called into the empty apartment. Silence stared back at me, echoing the sound of carelessly tossed keys on wood. I kicked off my black loafers and nudged them onto the straw doormat, filtering through the stack of mail I picked up at the door on my way up.

"Mr. Carson, we regret to inform you that your internet services will be cut off as of May 14th, 2011-" Flip. "Good day, Mr. Carson. Your outstanding payment of $236.67 has yet to be paid-" Flip. "College loan balance is-" Flip. "Outstanding sum of-" Flip. "If nothing is done about this issue, we will be forced to send our collectors."

My brows wrinkled. "Huh, so much for money to spare," I muttered, cyanide on my breath. I chucked the bills onto my kitchen table, the slips scattering upon impact. I looked at the microwave clock. As Xigbar had predicted, it read as, 12:06 a.m. I frowned. My stomach growled in response, and I immediately eyed the stove.

"Dinner time, Axel."

One pair of pyjamas, a set of fuzzy slippers, and a heaping bowl of kraft dinner with chopped hotdogs later, I flopped down on my sofa in front of the television and began the ritual channel surfing through infomercials. I sighed, sliding a finger through the black elastic holding my hair up before pulling it away. My hair fell in fatigued crimson strands that once stood as loose cowlicks earlier in the day. I shook my head out for good measure, and settled on an episode of Futurama. It was a repeat, but it served the purpose of background noise.

I shoveled in another scoop of KD and reached over to the side table, tossing a bright orange piggy bank into my lap. The Roxas concert was quite the turn-off, I realized. All of the noise and the magnitude of everything had sucked life out of me.

"Well, Quidlet," I murmured, my words wet from the food in my mouth, "looks like you're gonna have to go without supper tonight." My fingertips pressed against the smooth plastic flesh, the surface of which was littered with sharpie words and scribbles. I smiled as I lingered on the almost-illegible scraggle.

Astronaut, dinosaur, superhero, jet pack, the sun, one hundred dollars, Link… The handwriting got better as you followed down the pig's back. Police officer, fire fighter, television, telescope, paint ball gun. The writing leads into jot notes on the pig's behind. Animator, news anchor, tattoo artist, own apartment, driver's license, girlfriend, boyfriend, car, trip to Spain, new guitar… every single word was etched out, either with a check mark or a scribble. I flipped Quidlet over, producing a sharpie from the folds of the couch.

"Sometimes, Quid, it just feels like you and me against the world," Another bite of dinner invaded my mouth, noodles still piping hot and sharp with artificial cheddar. My mouth melted into the sensation. I uncapped the sharpie, eyeing the only unmarked word on the bank. It was on the bottom of its hoof, in embellished penmanship surrounded by stars and circles. It was written at a young age, and the stars around it grew increasingly better-drawn. My lime eyes narrowed at it in acceptance, and I pressed the tip of the sharpie to the last ambition on my childhood list in a haphazard scribble.

Rock star.

"That can't be my world." I murmured to the piggy bank. It stared back at me with bright blue pin-prick eyes. "No, it can't. Don't give me that look. It's too impossible. A one-in-a-million shot." My hand cradled the piggy bank's back as I set it on the side-table. I scoffed. "Besides, snobs like Mr. McCartney stink up the scene enough already. There'd be no point in being there." My fingers lingered on the back of the piggy bank.

I kept my hand there for a long time. Looking back, I figured I was scared that when my hand left the bank, so would all hope I had for myself and my future. Life would become something that fell to moving with the motions. I'd always be working to repay a debt that would continue to come.

But, eventually, I'd let go of the piggy bank- whether in pure distraction or in the loss of consciousness, and soon I'd fallen asleep to the sounds of Fry playing an opera for Leela on the holophone. My final thought was definite, and many a person would be able to find it true:

Our destinies are not given to us. Our destinies are defined by who can get the most names in a book before anyone else to present to the big man at the top of the chain.

And I was horrible at taking names.


End file.
